


Down, down

by elareine



Series: Advent Calendar 2019 [21]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Captivity, M/M, Magic, Marriage Proposal, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21902899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elareine/pseuds/elareine
Summary: The first time he visits the sea witch, it is for knowledge.There have been whispers in the castle for as long as Clark can remember. A sea creature, dark and terrible, his mother’s chambermaid used to tell him. It would eat him if he didn’t behave. A captive, the head of his guard said, a sea creature that had killed many humans before his grandfather managed to catch it and chain it to the caves under the castle.A being that fulfills wishes, his mother whispered, and it is her voice Clark is following tonight.
Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Series: Advent Calendar 2019 [21]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558834
Comments: 10
Kudos: 256





	Down, down

**Author's Note:**

> Advent calendar day twenty-one: Merpeople.

The first time he visits the sea witch, it is for knowledge. 

There have been whispers in the castle for as long as Clark can remember. A sea creature, dark and terrible, his mother’s chambermaid used to tell him. It would eat him if he didn’t behave. A captive, the head of his guard said, a sea creature that had killed many humans before his grandfather managed to catch it and chain it to the caves under the castle. 

A being that fulfills wishes, his mother whispered, and it is her voice Clark is following tonight. 

From the dust, he is certain no one has walked through these tunnels in years. He half expects to find nothing but a corpse when he finally opens the heavy doors at its end—if no one was here to bring food, how would the creature have survived? 

But eyes glow at him from the darkness. 

“Erm. Hello?” Clark steps closer, his torch illuminating the cave. 

Something—some _one—_ is sitting in the water. No, not sitting, Clark realizes, floating. His upper body, mostly resembling that of a human but also not, is above the waterline. His lower body is hidden by the water, but Clark can make out dark, writhing shapes. Tentacles, maybe? He squints, then realizes he’s being rude and snaps his eyes back up to the witch’s face. 

“What do you want?” the creature asks. 

“My name is Clark.” 

“I know who you are.” It’s a simple statement, but it makes chills run down Clark’s spine. “What do you want from me?” 

“My uncle has taken the throne after my father’s death.” It still hurts to say. Clark remembers his father’s face as the sword cut through his throat all too clearly. He wasn’t supposed to see it; isn’t supposed to know what happened. 

“Do you want me to kill him?” 

“What? No!” Though Clark is tempted sometimes, he knows that’s not what the country needs. 

“Then what?” 

“I need to learn,” Clark tells him earnestly. “My father—he didn’t have time to teach me everything to be a good king.” 

The witch is silent. 

Clark tries to think of anything that could convince them. “You have knowledge, they say. The kind that was lost to humans. Surely you know of kingdoms? How to bring justice and peace? ” 

“You do not wish for a spell? A potion? Something to make you all-knowing, to make your uncle vanish, to bring back your father?” the witch asks, disbelief in his voice. 

Clark shakes his head, unsure why the witch is acting so surprised. 

There is movement under the water. “Then… I will give you what you need. But there will be a price.” 

Clark expected that. “Do you want me to free you?” 

“That would be far beyond your power, princeling. No, what I will require… is time.” 

“Time?” 

“An hour a day,” the witch tells him, “studying. I will tell you all you need to know, things you only ever dreamed of, but you need to invest your time. And it needs to stay a secret. That is the best deal I can give you.” 

Clark—he has to admit he doesn’t like the idea. It seems dangerous and unpleasant to spend so much time around a creature he is sure could kill him with a single movement of whatever is hidden underneath the waterline. 

But if he is hesitant to stay, how much worse must it be for a witch that can never leave? And besides, he realizes, the risk is far more significant for the creature. What if his uncle finds out? How would he use a weapon like this? 

Clark shudders at the thought and makes his choice. 

“Agreed. What is your name?” he asks. 

“Why would you need to know?” 

Clark rolls his eyes. It’s probably not the wisest move in front of such a creature, but… really? “To be polite? We will see each other more often, after all. I cannot just keep calling you ‘witch.’”

“Why not?” the witch asks. It sounds genuinely curious. “It’s what everyone else of your kind has done.” 

Well, that just makes Clark want to throw something. Since his only option is the torch, he refrains, but barely. “I won’t.” 

Those strange blue eyes consider him, then turn away. Just when Clark thinks the witch will vanish without another word, he hears: “I’m Bruce.” 

He smiles and waves. “See you tomorrow, then, Bruce.” 

The second time Clark visits the sea witch, he asks for strength. 

His footsteps echo through the tunnels as he runs. There is no need for secrecy now that he is king, and he throws open the doors with a resounding ‘bang.’ Usually, he takes a moment to appreciate the way the cave looks so much brighter with all the lamps and decorations he’s moved in here. 

The best thing was the bookshelves, obviously. Bruce devours whatever Clark brings him. There have to be more books down here than in the Royal library by now, and Clark has no intention of ever reversing the trend. 

Today, though, he runs straight into the water, barely managing to stop before he runs into a startled Bruce. A tentacle curls around his waist, steadying him. 

Clark gasps out: “My uncle is back with an army, and he brought witches.” 

Bruce looks concerned. “How close are they?” 

“There is an armada fifteen miles from the capital.” 

Bruce doesn’t say _You should have killed him_ , unlike Clark’s advisors. Bruce, he knows, values life just as dearly as he does. Mercy, he taught him, is never the wrong decision. 

A tentacle slashes through the water in what Clark has learned is frustration. “If I could go outside—” 

For a moment, Clark lets himself envision it. Bruce, taking down ship after ship, magnificent in with the strength of his tentacles and of his magic. But Clark has tried and tried and tried. Nowhere has his grandfather recorded what he did to chain Bruce to this cave. 

So he focuses on a more practical approach. “I am confident in my army and my navy, but how can we sail or fight when we cannot see? There have been mists and storms all along the coast.” 

“He brought weather witches, huh?” There’s something like a grin on Bruce’s face, highlighting his many, many rows of teeth. Maybe it’s weird that Clark finds that immensely comforting. 

“Do you think that you could hold them off?” 

Bruce snorts contemptuously. “Of course. Humans think they can control everything, but they do not understand the water.” 

And oh, Clark will ask him about that. The way Bruce sees the world remains endlessly fascinating to him. But in the years since their first encounter, he has learned the most crucial question: “What will be the price?” 

“It will require blood,” Bruce says ominously if a bit—apologetically? 

“Mine, I hope.” 

“Among others, yes.” 

Clark narrows his eyes. “What does that mean?” Bruce isn’t going to ask for his firstborn or anything, is he?

“All your ships will reach the harbor,” Bruce says, sounding distant, “and your arrows will fly true. But you cannot use a single weapon made of fire, or the spell will vanish.” 

“We can do that.” Clark is already mentally adjusting his battle plans. Sure, those new cannons are nice, but they would be worth nothing if they had no way to aim them. “That does not explain the blood part, though.” 

“It is a deal, then,” Bruce says. “Take out your dagger.” 

Clark, still unsure but willing to trust Bruce on this, hands it to him. There’s a sting on his upper arm, immediately soothed by the press of a cold tentacle against it. 

Then Bruce, to Clark’s horror, turns the dagger against himself. “What—” 

“Shh. I’m concentrating.” Bruce cuts along his own human arm, then a tentacle. His eyes are brighter than usual. 

It’s the first time Clark’s seen Bruce work actual magic, and he is fascinated. The water around them is receding, then swelling. A chant rises with the wind—a wind that shouldn’t be here. There’s a glow, and then a locket appears in Bruce’s hands. 

Bruce exhales and hands it to Clark. 

“As long as you wear this, the spell will hold. And… it will protect you personally,” Bruce says. “So do not take it off.” 

Clark stares. “I never asked for that.” 

“I know.” Bruce looks away. “There’s a piece of my magic in that locket. If you do not bring it back, it will forever be lost. So you better come back.” 

Moments like these, Clark is starting to suspect that the witch isn’t actually that much older than him, if at all. Clark was eleven the first time he visited the witch, which begs the question—who locks a boy into an underground cave? 

He doesn’t have the time to consider this now, he realizes with a start. His uncle is closing in on the capital as they speak. 

“I will, and then we will have words about it,” he promises. Bruce nods, and Clark turns and runs out of the cave, out of this prison, feeling much better than he had an hour ago. 

The locket is warm against his chest. 

The third time he visits the sea witch, it is for love. 

Bruce is stretched out on the rocky shore when Clark enters, looking as relaxed as Clark has ever seen him. 

“Good hunt?” the king asks, stepping up next to him. 

“A swarm of fish made their way in,” Bruce tells him. “It seems they are starting to forget that this place is not be entered.” 

“That’s nice.” 

There must’ve been something in his voice. Those eyes open and study him, turning sharply alert at whatever it is they perceive. “Anything special that brings you here today?” 

Clark nods. It’s useless to try and hide his nervousness in front of his friend. “As you know, we’ve been at peace for three years now.” Ever since Bruce vanquished storms and Clark’s fighters prevailed against his uncle. No one would dare attack a country that combined such powers. “My advisors have begun to talk of marriage prospects to me.”

Bruce nods. “I was wondering if it would be power or love.” 

“Huh?” 

“Knowledge, power…” Bruce counts each item with a tentacle. “With many people, it would be wealth, next. If your kingdom was poor, I’d have bet on that, but as it is…” 

Clark _thinks_ that was a compliment hidden somewhere in there. Maybe. “No wealth needed, yes. But they are getting a bit impatient, so…” 

“Then I don’t understand your question.” Bruce isn’t looking at him. “Surely you do not need a love potion to find someone suitable.” 

The _nerve_ of that witch. “Bruce, if you tell me that after all these years you do not know who it is I wish to marry, I will have to hit you over the head.” 

That does, finally, get him a smile, even if it’s faint. “I wasn’t sure.” 

“Yes, well, I am. So I am asking you, _sea witch_ : What will it need to get you out of this cave?” 

He’s being unfair, Clark knows. A witch has to answer the question a customer asks, whether they want to or not. 

(Truth to be told, his advisors haven’t been _that_ pushy. It just allows Clark enough pretext to ask Bruce in a way he cannot avoid. He’s tired of going down to this cave; tired of knowing this beautiful creature is hidden from the world, held captive for a reason none of them understand.)

“It’s a curse,” Bruce tells him, stilted as if it’s being dragged out of him. “I can lift it if you ask me to, and only then, but… it needs payment.”

“Whatever it is, I’m willing to give it.” Clark _is_. Even if it’s his life. 

“I don’t know what it is,” Bruce says. “I cannot think of a single thing that would be big enough to satisfy the curse that I am willing to have you pay.” 

“There must be something.” 

“A life for a life, Clark. Memories, or blood, or children. Freedom is not worth it.” 

“But it _is_. There’s so much out there, Bruce. Water and ships and streams and the sun and stars, and everything beautiful, and ugly, and alive. You should see it.” 

A tentacle winds itself around his wrist. Clark doesn’t hesitate to wrap his hand around it, squeezing reassuringly. 

Bruce asks: “What would you have me do?” 

“Swim in the oceans. See your kind, be free. Or be a part of the human world whenever you want to be.” Clark swallows. “You know you will always be welcome here.” 

The grip in his wrist turns painful for a second, Bruce visibly struggling to contain his emotions. “You know there is nowhere else I would rather be than with you.” 

That’s a relief, but Clark insists: “It should be your choice. And there are other places even in this castle, you know. We could—we could merge the libraries. Built a pool, just for you.” 

Bruce shakes his head as if that’s too much to imagine. “You still haven’t told me what price you think would be big enough to pay for my freedom.” 

Clark gets an idea. “How about my firstborn?” 

The confusion on Bruce’s face is adorable. “Why would you give me your baby? Clark, I have no intention of killing a child or kidnapping it or—” 

“Not mine,” Clark shrugs. He’s kind of delighted himself for the idea. “Ours. To raise together. Loophole, right?” 

He gets to watch as Bruce digests that idea. His tentacles are doing that thing where they curl and straighten and curl and straighten in acute embarrassment and pleasure. 

“I don’t think that will be quite enough,” he finally says. Clark tries not to let show how crushing that is. But then Bruce smiles, and it’s wicked and gorgeous and bright like nothing Clark has ever seen before. “We might need a kiss, too.” 

_Oh._ “True love’s kiss?” Clark’s grinning, he knows it. 

“Something like that.” There are tentacles on his back and all around him as clawed hands frame his face. Clark doesn’t mind, just presses closer, winding his arms around his sea witch’s neck. “It certainly wouldn’t hurt.” 


End file.
